Find a Baby, Pick It Up
by Hinata245
Summary: A self-proclaimed shield maiden of Rohan fights her way to and through Isengard only to stumble upon the remains of a breeding pit. But when the time comes to leave, she can't shake the little one she saved... or the much bigger one tracking them.
1. On the Way to Isengard

**Author's Note:** Hello. I've just been smacked by a lovely Orc shaped muse. I do not own nor profit from Lord of the Rings or any related subject. Bemia, Ulfr, Trantil, and Farnim are all my creations. Any likeness to real world happenings or people is completely unintentional. This is a short back story that will allow me to form a more rounded character.

The giant Urk pulled back from a disturbingly still woman, his thighs and buttocks pleasantly sore. The small Orc next to him gave a cruel laugh. "She was a fighter in the beginning, but gave up quick enough, didn't she?" The Urk gave a stiff nod and quickly cleaned his neither regions before pulling his pants up and walking back to the living quarters. His brethren gave a roar of welcome and jealousy. "Really. No idea how Master picks your ilk to be breedin'. Look at ya. Barely Urk-hai at all," one of the taller Urk said as he clapped his friend on the back.

And it was true. This fellow was a bit different from the others. He was just as tall, just a broad. But one only need to look to its face to see the mark of man. The flattened face common to his kin was replaced by a large curved nose and gently sloping brow. Eyes much darker than urine yellow peeked out from his sockets. But the most damning thing were his teeth. They were not beautifully sharp, oral claws, but the dull squarish things of men. Even the snaga that pulled him from the Earth had found this amusing and strange. His curiosity led to the loss of a finger.

Murzok, for that is what he was named, was also just a bit smarter than most. He supposed that is why Master chose for breeding. Murzok tried not to think about breeding too often. The screams and tears of the captured females rang loud in his dreams, and often he woke with a start as their faces morphed to someone else. He did not remember ever taking this female, and there was no other he could ask without having to explain himself. Murzok had learned long ago that although Master liked intelligence, he would not suffer fools.

_**-Perspective Shift-**_

There are days where all alive feel that nothing is out of the ordinary and the peace isn't suffocating. On these days, famers sew their crops in mild weather while their wives walk leisurely to the nearest creek and do the washing. The children run happily and the elders smoke their pipes without the chatter of the hard won battles and easily won women of their youth.

This is the setting of Bemia's memories. The little village on the edge of Rohan where sadness was always overcome by joy. But it is only a memory now. There is naught but ash and wild horses there now. Because an unexpected event, like most unexpected events do, happened when no one was ready for it.

As a cloud passed across the sun and the wind gave a pleasant breeze, the clatter of armor grew from the distance. All able-bodied people of Trantil craned their necks to see the Riders of the Mark that surely must have gotten lost to be so far west. But they were not met with tired smiles of confused Rohirric. Cries of terror rent the air like great daggers as the first flat faced creature marched over the hills.

The pitch colored beasts took great pleasure in the up roar of fear. Their foot fall was the sound of lightening as it strikes the ground. A battle cry came forth from the mouths of men and women alike as they took up arms. All the while a cart filled with little ones was quickly making its way south. Many small faces peered out from the top of the fleeing vessel, but one in particular wished more than anything that it had been left behind.

"We are Eorlingas! Will we not stand and fight with our families? Why do we run like the frightened doe?" asked a high voice. A trill of agreement went up, and was quickly silenced by the much older driver. "You were trained to fight horse thieves and Dunlending and any other force of man. But those were not men," the smooth voice of the man replied.

The children not already weeping gave a fearful look back and few dared to even think about the relatives left behind to fight. "What will become of us, Ulfr?" the child asked as the sun slipped past the hills. "Worry not, little Bemia. As you said, we are a village of Éo-marc. The creatures may already be slain by your Ma and Da. We will ride further south till we reach Farnim and alert the people of the attack. They will send forces to aid our village," Ulfr said. Bemia scrunched up her little nose. Farnim always smelt of goat and mead. She hated both.

-Six Years Later-

The pint of mead sloshed about as it was merrily thumped down. Peals of laughter filled the air as its owner swayed drunkenly in her seat. A burly, bearded man placed his hand upon her shoulder, "Yeh ready to warm me bed yet, Bemia?" The young woman gave a laugh. "I'll never be that drunk, Durek." The rest of the pub's patrons gave a loud laugh as the rejected man shook his head. "Never hurts te try," he said as he plopped down on the nearest stool.

"I 'eard tell that yeh be feelin' a mite low 'round this time a year. I'd gotten it into me 'ead that you could use a bit eh cheer. But now I'm seein' yeh need an ear teh speak inteh. I'm no high councilor, mind yeh, but I can listen just as good as tha next Stoolie," Durek said as the barman passed him a pint of very fragrant, and very strong, mead.

"I'd rather not talk about it Durek. I'm trying to drink myself into a stupor if you haven't noticed. Some things are best left forgotten." Durek gave a sigh and took a long dreg from his mug. "Yeh think your Da would be wantin' a scowlin' drunkard for a daughter? Yeh forget yerhself. I was there when Ulfr came a'drivin' down tha road carrin' a passel a youngins and waggin' his tongue 'bout some strange orcs. I remember a wee thing jumpin' from tha cart an' shoutin' tha she would fight 'em all with a knife if he'd just take yeh back."

"I was a fool. I spouted the words of an angry child," Bemia said, laying her head on the worn bar surface. "Nay. Yeh was a fighter. Still are, if I'm tha wagerin' sort. Why. Weren't it just last week that yeh threw a man inteh the horse waters fer pickin' on wee Hesia?" Durek asked with a chortle. "That…man was just being a pile of krult. Hesia is obviously not related to Dunlendings, and he was blighting her by hinting so. I'll not have people's feelings being thrown about, especially…"she trailed off as her eyes became misty. "Specially one eh yer lot. I know lass. Yeh protect the babes like they're yer own."

"Someone has to, Durek. Ulfr is getting old. He's almost forty winters now. I can't have anyone thinking the children of Trantil are to be abused." "I figured ye'd think that. Yeh are the clan leader's daughter after all." Durek said as he clapped her reassuringly on the back. Bemia sat up long enough to empty her cup, then thunked her head back on the bar. "I was. There is no clan, no village, no anything. Now I'm a shield maiden of Rohan that refuses to be courted and keeps the company of drunkards and children," she mumbled out. "Eh? Come on lass. Yeh say that like it's a bad thing. Stoolies and wee ones are tha only ones that tell yeh tha real truth."

Durek and Bemia were both hunched over the bar when a one of the town gossips ran into the crowded pub and climbed onto the bar. "Would yeh look ah that. Mayhaps Lady Korliet been stickin' her nose in tha wrong place this time. She looks a mite mad." Durek whispered, giving Bemia her first laugh in days.

"Hush now you slovenly bunch of do nothings! There is trouble going on. We have refugees coming from three different villages to our east. They say that strange black orcs destroyed their homes, stole their women, and ate their horses. Worst yet, they are at least three hundred strong and headed this way," the Lady said, finally getting a breath and swallowing the last sip of Bemia's drink.

All was quiet for a moment, then it went to Hell. Half of the bar rallied itself into a near brawl over staying to fight, while the other half slipped out and started packing for the road. A man was flung through the door way just as Durek drug her out. "Yeh an' me'll be takin' the wee ones as far as we can. Then yeh can fight all yeh want. But 'til then, yeh best cart up what yeh can and grab old Ulfr and the wee ones. I'll be gettin' the horses," Durek said as he ran off to his once glorious family stable.

He only had a moment to look around and remember the place as it had been so long ago. For a fraction of time, the wind was the neigh of a dozen horses and the laughter of his children was loud in the night. "I'll be keepin' tha wee ones safe this time, Lorel. It's not sickness comin' for'em now. Iffin your spirits still here, sweet wife, I'd call on yeh teh follow wee Bemia. I can only be keepin' her from a fight fer so long."

Just like that, Durek remembered what he was doing, and saddled his four sturdy plow horses. It'd take some hard work to be carrying three grown people and eight young'uns, but the horses would have to do it. In an hours' time, Ulfr, Bemia, Durek, and "the wee ones" were all riding a cart that had seen better days.

"I'm getting tired of running away in this thing," Bemia mumbled as she looked back in the distance. It was an hour before night fall once again, and two before the screams of pains and loss were heard from behind.

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Words you might need to know*

Bemia- means "battle maiden", not to be confused with the goddess Bema

Trantil- Bemia's village

Eorlingas- what the natives of Rohan call themselves

Éo-marc- what the natives of Rohan call Rohan, which means literally Horse-Mark

Farnim- the town a day south of Trantil which produces goat cheese, along with a very strong mead

Stoolie- a frequenter of pubs

Horse-waters- I would think that the people of Rohan know that horses in the drinking water is a bad idea. They just…go… where ever and whenever they need to.

Krult- curse among the Rohirric meaning filth or dung


	2. The Deaf King

Disclaimer: in Chapter One

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"Where are we going Durek?"a young boy asked on the tenth day of their journey. "We'll be settlin' in Edoras. That's where Theoden King rules from. He'll be a known' what teh do. Sides, aren't yeh liken' our little adventure?" Durek asked as he pushed the cart along at a nice swift walk. "I liked sleeping in our house. I miss the pallet. And Erol keeps poking me with his elbow at night when he sleeps", the boy said as he rubbed his ribs. Ulfr laughed and gave the child a pat on the shoulder.

"Hush up now Roe. Erol can't help if he dreams of being a running horse can he? "Ulfr said in a mock whisper. "Hey!"Erol exclaimed. The rest of the group had a good laugh before going back to their somber thoughts of another home lost. Trantil was only remembered by a few of the older ones. Bemia had tried her hardest to raise them with Ulfr's help, seeing as she was the oldest AND the clan leader's only child. She believed that she had done quite well over the past 6 years.

It was a long journey to Edoras. The children were worn down to nothing by the time Durek found an inn to lodge everyone and the horses. "I need to get a message to the king as quickly as possible. How is this done? "Ulfr asked as the innkeeper led the two men to their shared room and Bemia and the little ones to another. "I suppose you would need to request an audience with his advisor first. Theoden king has been a bit…out of sorts. His son, Theodred, was killed recently by strange orcs. High Councilor Grima is one of the few Theoden King will speak to now," the innkeeper said with a look of utter sadness.

"It is a matter of the same orcs with which we carry news. Four of the north eastern villages, if not more, have been overrun by all manner of strange Orc, and perhaps Dunlending as well. We did not wait to see," Ulfr said quietly. The Innkeeper gave a great sigh, "Then I fear he may not hear your news at all. Any talk of Orcs sends the king into a fit of sadness so that he will not leave his bed. It has been many days since we have seen our beloved Theoden King."

"Then all hope is lost," Ulfr mumbled. Bemia stomped her foot and took the age old, rebellious woman pose. "Judging from my history, if no one listens, we will all be fleeing from Edoras soon. Tomorrow, point me in the direction of the Golden Hall. I will get an audience with the King if I have to break the door down," she said, hands on her hips, chin in the air. Only the Innkeeper thought she was joking.

The next morning, it wasn't so funny.

"But, Lady! You cannot come before the king unannounced! Especially after the loss of beloved Theodred. It would be a mockery of the king, and maybe more so of the situation," the poor man pleaded. "Sir. I am grateful that you would care so much for your tenants, but I have lost two homes to inaction. I shan't put all of Edoras in danger because of my fear of the king," Bemia said as she easily pushed past him and began walking straight to the looming doors of the Golden Hall, and it's heavily armed guards.

She was met with a spear tip to her throat. "What is your business here? A scullery maid late for her duties?" a smug guard asked as he scanned her person. Bemia straightened her back and held her head high. "I am Bemia, daughter of Aldin and shield maiden of Éo-marc. I come bearing news from the East for Theoden King," she said with no hint of emotion in her voice. The solider raised an eyebrow, "Why would you be sent, and what is this message so important only the king may know?"

Bemia gave a sigh. "The rest that would tell him are dead or lost. But I think you are not the king, so I shall tell you no more." The guard thought a bit before nodding his head. "All weapons must be left outside the Golden Hall." Bemia contained a smile and asked sweetly, "You believe I wield weapons?" "Lady, if you are a shield maiden, you do not wield weapons. You have tamed them. No please, place them on the table," he said as the entirety of the company took a step back into place. After leaving her paring and skinning knives, she walked into the Hall as majestically as she could muster.

At just the wrong time too, it would seem. Before Bemia was a long table piled high with the most succulent foods she had ever seen, surrounded by some of the healthiest looking people she had ever seen. There was Theoden king, and perhaps Councilor Grima at his elbow whispering. "What is this? Who are you and why do you interrupt the meal of Theoden, King of Rohan?", the pale councilor inquired loudly.

""I am Bemia, daughter of Aldin and shield maiden of Éo-marc. There is something that the great King should know," Bemia said, barely covering the quiver of her voice caused by this man's slimy gaze. The king turned his glossy eyes to her and said, "Shield Maiden Bemia, what is your message?" Bemia dropped to her knee and bent her head as she spoke, "Four villages to the East, if not more, have been taken by Orc and Dunlending. There are few survivors, I myself being one. I wished to tell you before more lives were lost."

Grima stood straight and perhaps even tall for the first time she had seen and yelled, "How dare you! Do you think we have no idea of the Orc problem? Theodred was recently lost, but there were no more attacks. Riders of the Mark have been guarding our borders, forgive me if I doubt that they would inform no one of these attacks!"

Bemia felt as if she had been struck. And worse yet, the man continued his filthy words, "You claim to be a Shield Maiden, but I see a betrayer of the King! To spout such lies in the Sire's time of grief is unforgiveable, is that not so King?" Theoden nodded slowly, "Yes. This is ...this is treason, daughter of Aldin. You bring shame on you line, and yourself. To the dungeon with her."

Bemia silently looked at the shocked faces of the court as the guards grabbed her arms and pulled her away. Her last glimpse of the Hall was a beautiful bunch of grapes at the end of the table. For months, all Bemia thought of in the dark was sunlight, Trantil, and grapes.


	3. In the Dark

Disclaimer in Chapter One

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Murzok fell back, narrowly avoiding the blade of the training Orc. The jeers of his fellows filled the air as he tried to hold his own. The pit was truly a disgusting place, scented by blood and smoke and sweat. But Master knows that his children need training, so down to the pits they go.

The Orc and Urk began to circle. The sounds of bare feet stomping across the stone were almost like the clinking of armor. Murzok's less than fantastic night vision was definitely hampering. Push forward, swing, block, push, fall back. With a final shove, the Orc lost its blade and fell to its knees. Head lowered in submission and hands folded in waiting, the small creature was the picture of acceptance. Murzok had seen the end of many of these practices. If the Urk won, the Orc was always slain.

But as he looked down at his cousin's face, his stomach gave a disgusted jolt. The sword made a loud clang as it fell to the ground and for once there were no yells or mocking shouts. It was the most beautiful silence Murzok had ever heard.

_**-Perspective Shift-**_

In this cold, dark place, there was never silence. The muted cries of pain carried across the hard stone of the dungeons. What little light managed to find its way here was never warming or bright enough to see by clearly. Not that Bemia would like to look at herself right now anyway. The months without bathing or proper food were not to kind to what once was a muscular, slightly plump frame. She was also quite sure she had a nasty case of lice. The awful creatures jumped off of the rats scurrying about nibbling at people's toes. The little beasts would have made her a lovely dinner if they weren't so quick.

The conditions made far worse by the overcrowding one could only attribute to "Wormtongue". On Bemia's first day in the dark bowels of the fortress, there were four other prisoners in the tiny space. Two of them were brothers, twins in fact. They had been Riders of the Mark under Theodred, proud to serve under such a brave leader. They had both been detained for broken limbs when he had ridden to his death. The king, blinded by his grief, accused them both of knowing what would happen and staying out of the way on purpose. They'd been here ever since. Bemia was sure that they must have been quite handsome when they were free. The other woman of the cell certainly thought so.

She and Bemia quickly became friends. Her name was Orva. She had been a handmaiden for the king's niece, Lady Eowyn. The position was much sought after, for the Lady was kind and easy to love. But some people can "love" far too much. As Orva was cleaning the Lady's quarters, she found little notes confessing an obsessive and dark love hidden everywhere. Of course she rushed to the king himself, and was quickly deposited down here. Her greatest wish was not to escape, but warn her Ladyship. A more loyal woman you could never find.

The last little inmate was definitely the most heart wrenching. A boy of seven, Wulfric, who had tried to steal a loaf of bread. Bemia thought that he would have fit well into her little band of misfits. He was a sweet little thing, always trying to make up games or pull stories from the others. And it was very sad how quickly he perked up when he saw gruel.

Here comes the cart now. The always kind guard hands in 4 bowls filled to the brim with questionable glop. "And I've managed to get a little something from the Missus for ye, Wolfy," he said as maneuvered a wedge of cheese through the bars for the child. 'Thank goodness we're left unchained,' Bemia thought as Wulfric scrambled around trying to share his present. The twins, Alger and Arter, made a game of distracting Wulfric and putting as much of their gruel into his bowl as they could.

"I suppose this could be worse," Bemia said as she braided Wulfric's hair after "dinner". Orva gave a laugh. "Of course it could. You could have gotten five snobby murderers as your room mates. Or Wormtongue could fancy you", she said with disgust. Just the night before Orva had woken screaming about Eowyn's safety. "It was so awful. He had clawed her face like an animal…like a bear. And there were bruises all over her. Bemia, what if it's my fault? …All my fault," she rasped through her sobs.

_**-Perspective Shift-**_

The waters of the Isen were cold on Murzok's skin as he rubbed himself with sand, trying to scrub off some of the muck. The quickly blackened grains flowed down the river as clean, slightly green flesh saw the light of day for the first time in months. Clawed fingers reached for his hair, twisting while still wet to form thick, round locks. "Back into the Nazgul's belly."

"Another wash, Murzok?", a voice questioned, carrying down the valley. "Aye, Gazlen. What are you doing out here so close to sun rise? Little orcs should be bedding down about now," Murzok said as he climbed up the banks edge. "I couldn't just leave ya by yourself out here. What if the other beasties wanted a bit of fun?", Gazlen replied as he scurried down the slope to meet his friend. The Urk and Orc had become fast friends after Murzok had spared him. It is not common knowledge, but the young Orcs were often stolen from their parents by treacherous kin and given to their Master for what have you. The sad truth was that they were soon in the way of another's sword, or fist, or …stomach.

"Come on youngling. Best not to tempt fate. You'll stay in the barracks tonight," Murzok said as he gave the little one a pat on the head. "Uh. But it's so smelly down there. And everyone is so loud. And stupid Tugglehk pulls on my ears," Gazlen whined. "Quite your whining. You can have my bed." The child gave a whoop of glee and began to walk faster.

As Gazlen rolled over in the bed, he whispered to Murzok, who was sitting against the wall. "I heard Master is going to make you a Da. I think that's silly," Gazlen mumbled sleepily. "And why is that?", Murzok asked with a chuckle. Gazlen rubbed his eyes and gave a sleepy smile, "Because you're already my Da."


	4. Forgotten In the Earth

**Author's Note: **My only excuse for the lack of updating is college. Sorry. But hopefully this chapter will make up for it. Oh! And thanks to The Lauderdale for picking up my spelling error. Apparently I had incorrectly entered Urk into my dictionary on Office. I adore everyone that has followed, review, favorite, and subscribed.

Bemia gently wiped Orva's tear stained face with the cleanest bit of her dress and the pulled the older woman close. Wulfric curled into them as he shifted in his sleep. "It'll be alright Orva. I've got you," Bemia whispered as she cradled the woman's head to her chest. Orva gave a whimper and clutched Bemia's hands. It had become a disturbingly common event lately. The last few weeks, judging by meals, Orva had become prone to terrors of the night that left her speechless and clingy.

Bemia had given up on asking what happened. She was never answered and needed all her energy to rock the poor woman back to sanity. Alger, the eldest twin, crawled over to the women. "Let me have her for a bit, Lady. You need your rest," he said as he pried Orva's fingers from Bemia's dress. Bemia gave a smile of gratitude that was barely seen in the dim light and quickly fell into a deep sleep.

Alger maneuvered the stricken women in his arms, tucking her delicate head under his chin and remembering the before times. He could even feel them: the bright sun warming his skin, the shifting of his horse as the graceful beast galloped, and the weight of a beautiful wench on his strong lap. He looked down and gave a heavy sigh.

Alger was not a vain man, but even he lamented the loss of his muscle and fluid stride. He laughed quietly as Arter coaxed Wolfy and Bemia into his embrace and motioned for Alger to situate himself and guest into the little forming pod.

Flea bitten, lice covered, malnourished, and depressed, the small group spent a night in newly found warmth and comfort. Even Orva calmed in her dreaming.

Bemia woke the next morning despairing in the amount of times screaming pulled her from sleep. Orva dug her fingernails into the arms of the guard as he tried to extract her from the cell. "Why only me? Why not everyone else? I won't leave without them!" the woman yelled as she gave a valiant attempt at fighting off the muscular, well fed man. The space's other inhabitants put in their all as well, but in the end it didn't help.

"We only need one more, miss. Theoden King has ordered the moving of some of the women. You'll be nursing some of our boys. There was a skirmish with some wild men that didn't fair too well for either side," a loud voice called from the doorway.

There weren't any goodbyes, or good lucks. Just the sound of Orva's screeching echoing down the halls to her former cell. Wulfric threw his tiny body at the bars and demanded they bring her back! "Hush now", Bemia cooed as she held him close and smoothed his matted hair. "They've taken her somewhere much nicer. She'll be well fed and warm, and I bet they'll give her a bath. Doesn't that sound nice?" she whispered as the boy began to quiet. "I always hated baths, but I'd love one now," he said as he fell into a deep sleep.

"Do you really think she's been taken to heal?" Alger asked quietly. Arter gave a shrug and replied, "Seems about as likely as anything else right now. The world has gone mad, after all." "Don't let Wolfy hear you. The little thing deserves some hope," Bemia muttered sadly.

The twins gathered close to the woman and child, as if to protect them, and went into a hypersensitive slumber. The remaining female assessed the shells of what once must have been a healthy group. Sunken, bloodshot eyes peered out from skeletal faces. Snarled hair fell haphazardly, crawling with lice and who knows what else. And for the first time in a long while, Bemia tried to look at herself. She began to sob.

'I just want to go home.'

_**-Perspective Shift-**_

The forest was beautiful. It was peaceful in the way only something full of life can be. Wild flowers and weeds alike covered the ground and small animals could be seen flitting through the brush. The wind smelled of honey and freshly trampled grass. Murzok knew it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, ever felt.

But as he knelt to pick a flower, he saw that his hands were not his hands. The knees he knelt with were not his knees, and his head was not heavy with coils of hair held together by soot and grease. He gave a cry of alarm and fell back onto his bum. The sky began to fill with smoke and the sound of marching feet. The feet of his brothers…the feet of the Uruk-hai.

Though his mind was glad for the normalcy of them, his body did not head his will. It took off on some well-worn path Murzok had never seen and began to ascend a rocky slope. There was a buzzing sound, and then incredible pain. Then another, and yet another. Murzok's hand tried to clutch his side, but was impeded by arrow shafts. His knees lurched forward before buckling, and his vision began to dim.

A pair of Uruk feet slowly lumbered his way. Their own chuckled before speaking to Murzok in Westron,"Still alive, Tark? Too bad. If I was you, I'd start wishin' I was dead." With that, the large Uruk grabbed Murzok's sagging form and began to drag him back the way he'd came.

Murzok struggled to stay awake through bright flashes of pain and heat, but it was a losing battle. For a time the world was nothing but darkness and blood and then bitter cold. With a final jolt, his eyes opened long enough to see a large pit in the ground surrounded by chained trolls, elves, orc, and men. But there was the white one, Saruman, come to deliver them.

Murzok fell to his knees in gratitude and received nothing but a sneer from the tall wizard. "It is only just that you thank me, young man. You'll be part of something far greater than yourself soon." And Murzok was thrown into the pit, barely managing not to land on his head. The rest of the beast was put into the pit, and then it was dark again. But there was no silence. Cries of anger and terror rent the air and where only quieted as the remaining orcs above the pit began to fill in the hole with dirt and slime and blood. Saruman began chanting foreign words and the cries and blood and dirt came together, pulling and ripping and silencing. Murzok saw memories of a sister, mother, brother, and home that were not his. But the Earth is cold and forgetful. The young man, whoever he was, became something else. Something new.

Murzok shot up in his bed. Glad to escape the dream or nightmare or memory. He pulled his hand close to his face and flexed it slowly, wondering why it didn't feel like it belonged.


End file.
